


Memories

by neonthoughts



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, no actual rape but it is heavily alluded to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26405674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonthoughts/pseuds/neonthoughts
Summary: Neil comforts Andrew after experiencing a terrible nightmare/flashback. Andrew considers what memories are and what they can be.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 3
Kudos: 123





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for PTSD flashback and scene with Drake. Please take caution when reading.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: https://andrewminyard3.tumblr.com/

_Andrew tugged the cuffs securing his wrists to the bedpost. He was lying on his stomach face down in a pillow, unable to see when_ he _would be coming back. Andrew bit his tongue trying not to cry. Drake loved it when he saw Andrew crying. It meant that what Drake is doing is bothering him, and getting a reaction out of Andrew was Drake’s addiction that no amount of tears Andrew shed can satiate. He refused to give Drake that satisfaction when he’s already taken everything else._

_“Oh sweet little AJ,” Drake mocked leaning against the doorframe admiring Andrew’s naked body. “Still haven’t figured out those cuffs, huh?”_

_“Give me the fucking key,” Andrew demanded through gritted teeth._

_Drake didn’t answer him, but approached the bed running a finger up Andrew’s leg starting at his ankle, dragging his nail all the way up his body slowly. He dug his nail deeper on Andrew’s back, leaving a small pink line, then brought his hand up to Andrew’s face. Drake forcefully squeezed Andrew’s cheeks together in one hand making his lips push out. Drake pressed a sloppy kiss on Andrew’s lips and pulled back, not letting go of Andrew’s face, making him look at his attacker._

_“Say please.”_

_“Fuck you,” Andrew spat._

_Drake stepped back, wiping the saliva off his cheek where it landed. His tall, muscular, tattooed body stood over Andrew, eyes lighting up with fire._

_“And to think I was being nice to you before. Being so gentle with you, but fuck that. I’m going to tear you apart, you worthless piece of unwanted shit.”_

_Drake’s voice was pure venom in Andrew’s veins. He felt his entire body go cold and grabbed onto the headboard frame tightly. He felt Drake climb on top of him and bit the pillow to fight back the scream that tore at his throat._

“Andrew, wake up! It’s just a dream, wake up!”

Andrew sits up violently in bed and swings his fist into the person hovering over him. If it’s a fight Drake wants, it’s a fight he’ll get.

“Fuck,” Neil groans grabbing his stomach as the wind is knocked out of him. 

“Neil?” Andrew gasps, taking in his surroundings.

He is home. He’s inside his apartment, in his bedroom, on his bed, while Neil is curled up on the floor attempting to force oxygen back into his lungs. 

“Neil,” Andrew repeats, unsure of what else to say.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Neil promises as he starts finding his breath. “I know not to touch you when you’re asleep. It’s just that, you were screaming and--”

“Yeah, it was... It was a really bad one,” Andrew interrupts. “Next time, I’ll try not to hit so hard.”

“Not hitting at all would be an excellent goal to work towards,” Neil laughs, finally finding his breath, “but I’ll take what I can get.”

Andrew gives him a smirk in response to his sarcasm and exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Neil stands up to face his boyfriend who is observing a string on his pajama bottoms like it holds the answers to the unknown universe. Neither Andrew nor Neil say anything for what feels like hours, but according to the alarm clock on the end side table has only been a minute.

Staring at the string, Andrew goes through the facts. Fact 1, Drake isn’t here. Fact 2, Drake isn’t here because he’s dead. Fact 3, Drake can’t hurt him anymore. Fact 4, Neil is here with him. Fact 5, due to the consequences of fact 4, he is safe. Or as safe as anyone can be, Andrew supposes. 

“Well I’ll get some hot cocoa going then. Go ahead and meet me in the lounge,” Neil says pulling on a pair of pajama shorts and loose fitting hoodie.

“What?” Andrew questions, wondering if he missed something while lost in thought.

“You’re not going back to sleep anytime soon, are you?” Neil asks.

“Hell no.”

“Then go on. Put a shirt on, or don’t, I don’t care. I’ll meet you in the lounge. You like those little marshmallows in yours, right?’

Andrew nods slowly and follows Neil out of the bedroom into the shared lounge and kitchen area. It’s nothing short of a miracle he didn’t wake up anyone else in the apartment with his screaming. Now that he has calmed down a little, Andrew can feel the hoarseness in his throat that only comes after yelling and sobbing in pure terror. It has been years since his throat hurt like this, but the memory makes his entire body ache. He sits himself down on the sofa and stares at the blank TV screen as he hears mugs clinking together. After a few moments, Neil makes his way over to Andrew, a mug in each hand, and gives the one overflowing with marshmallows to Andrew. Andrew wraps his hands around the mug, not caring that it’s hot enough to leave his palms bright red.

“Use the handle,” Neil says gently, finally breaking the silence. 

Andrew says nothing in response but places his mug on the coffee table in front of them. He tucks his legs into his chest and looks away from the red haired boy, unable to handle the look of concern and love in his eyes.

“I need a smoke,” Andrew says, picking at the loose thread on his pajama pants.

“Later,” Neil promises. “We should talk about--”

“It isn’t any of your concern,” Andrew snaps. “Plus there’s nothing to talk about. Just had a nightmare about a vampire chasing me trying to kill me. No. Big. Deal.”

“Lying is my thing,” Neil says, setting down his mug next to Andrew’s. 

Andrew doesn’t say anything for a long time, but finally sighs knowing Neil won’t give up that easily.

“It was a flashback or something. I don’t know how this stuff works.”

“You don’t have to know how it works,” Neil tells him, encouraging Andrew to continue. 

“I was--laying there,” Andrew manages finally, holding his wrists together as if to illustrate what he couldn’t bring himself to say. “And Drake. He was--on top of me. I couldn’t get him off of me.”

“Yes or no?”

When Andrew gives a slight nod, Neil places his hands on either side of Andrew’s face. He tilts his head into Neil’s touch and closes his eyes to hold back a tear threatening to escape. He won’t cry; not in front of Neil. Not in front of anyone.

“Is this something you’d rather talk with Betsy about? I don’t want you to think you _have_ to talk to me. You just need to talk to _someone_ ,” Neil says, gliding his thumb across Andrew’s soft cheek, still warm with sleep.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Andrew replies softly, opening his eyes to look at Neil’s.

He runs his hand over Neil’s bicep and down his arm, his hand finally finding Neil’s and intertwining their fingers. Andrew lifts their hands and brings them up to his lips, giving the back of Neil’s hand a soft kiss before letting go and reaching for a marshmallow at the top of his mug. He pops it in his mouth chewing on it longer than he should before finally swallowing it, feeling a weight still lingering in his stomach.

“Let’s get some fresh air,” Neil suggests, pulling Andrew up.

Andrew, still shirtless from his sleep, follows Neil out on the balcony to sit on the ledge, looking down at the empty sidewalk while crickets chirp endlessly. Neil lights a cigarette, takes a drag, then passes it to Andrew, blowing the smoke away from their faces. Andrew inhales feeling the toxic chemicals burn his throat and holds his breath for a moment. He finally exhales and hands the cigarette back to Neil, looking out at the campus.

Memory lives in the senses. Andrew knows this as fact. Everytime he closes his eyes, he sees Drake, smells the laundry detergent Cass uses on the pillow his face is buried in, feels the sharp pain all over his body, hears his own screams as he begs Drake to stop, tastes his salty tears as they fall from his eyes and onto his lips. Memory is not an action, but all five senses colliding in an inescapable symphony until the conductor finally lowers his arms; a sight, a smell, a feeling, a sound, a taste. Having one memory is a curse; having an eidetic memory is a cruel joke repeatedly played on him by the most unforgiving universe demanding he break and fall to his knees. Andrew flicks his eyes over to Neil who is blowing out another puff of smoke, then stubs out the half finished cigarette. 

“You’re shivering,” Neil says softly, running his fingertips over the goosebumps on Andrew’s arms.

“Thanks for the update,” Andrew remarks, only noticing now how chilly the night air is on his bare skin.

Neil leaves to go inside coming out a handful of seconds later with a hoodie. Andrew recognizes it as Neil’s, even without seeing ‘Josten’ written across the back of it. He takes it when Neil offers it to him and slides it on over his messy hair, pulling the sleeves down over his hands so that only his fingers are visible. He feels himself shiver now that the warmth of the hoodie exaggerates the cold on his skin and ducks into the fabric even further. He inhales and smells Neil’s scent, a mixture of his deodorant and laundry soap; something like a forest mixed with lavender. 

“Is this seat taken?” Neil asks pointing directly behind Andrew.

He shrugs and scoots half an inch forward, giving Neil the okay to slide in behind him and pull Andrew back so that he is resting against Neil’s chest. Neil wraps his arms around Andrew in a tight embrace and hums softly to a song Andrew assumes is made up.

“You’re tired and we have practice early in the morning. Go to bed,” Andrew tells Neil, grabbing onto the arms wrapping around his chest.

“So bossy,” Neil teases, giving the back of Andrew’s neck a kiss. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

Andrew is glad Neil can’t see the small smile that touches the corner of his lips. He leans back into Neil and studies his profile as if seeing it for the first time. Andrew places a soft kiss on Neil’s jaw and closes his eyes.

Memory lives in the senses. Andrew knows this as fact. He hopes that with enough time, memory becomes this: stealing quick glances at Neil, the smell of a crisp autumn night and Neil’s hoodie, feeling arms tightly around him in a protecting embrace, the sound of crickets battling each other to be the loudest, and the taste of sweet marshmallows and nighttime kisses.


End file.
